The Bat Cave

A warm blanket on a despairing night


The Bat Cave

  • Originally posted on a 6s community, August 17, 2010 at 1:02pm

The caravan rumbled over the road, rocks popping under wheels and a mist of chalky red dirt rising as a burnt offering. The pungency of all that limey clay met each one’s memory aloft in the dreamy consciousness in which humans bury themselves in times of trouble: was it horse riding or was it teenage wanderlust or might it have been the ultrafine uptake on the baseball field that triggered so keen an emotion?

City boys eyed country cows with deference while the visual and aural captivated country and city alike. Ears strained through crunching prairie grasses for the rattler’s siren call, and onward ran the caravan on foot and hand and claw.

The dusky sun bade fond farewell to the sojourners as they watched the whirlpool of millions of bats drain into the airborne river of nightly feast. The scene mirrored so many hearts in a reflection of a life so fragile, and the travelers saw the upside-down reality of their right-side-up fantasy; joy and mourning met in the middle.

For Andy

I am so grateful for the connections I made through Andy’s story and for their connections to others. The world is far smaller than we think.


For Andy

  • Originally posted on a 6s community, August 16, 2010 at 9:15am


On behalf of Andy, who was generous with his friendship, I thank each person who lifted Andy and his family and friends in prayer, shared a caring word, served one another during desperate times, or in any way held us in heart and mind.

On behalf of Andy’s family and friends, I thank you for all of those things as well as sharing his story with the world.

I thank you for your gratitude in receiving information that must have been painful to read at times and your encouragement to continue in this one small work. If you have found an ounce of comfort or the smallest inkling of kinship through the words here (on CaringBridge), know that your being here has buffered me against some harsh brutalities of our past month together.

I’m home and glad to be, but I still wish I were with you all. I experienced a moment of clarity this morning when my youngest scraped his knees: I felt thankful to have scraped knees to kiss.


The Journal has talked at some length about the things we could each do for Andy and his circle. Now, I need to tell you one more thing you can do:

Allow Andy’s life and death to be the drop of dew that glides down a curve of grass and falls heavily into the waters of life. Let his spirit merge with all who have come before, all who are now, and all who may come. Never stop the concentric ripples that roll steadily from his center to expand until we can no longer see them. But know they have no end: Andy’s impact can be eternal, unbroken, and farther reaching than we can readily comprehend. What I ask of you tonight is to let it be.